


You Can See Right Through Me, And I'm Falling Apart

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Glam Rock RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Fic, Banter, Bickering, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Issues, Freddie has dealt with a lot, Friendship/Love, Gen, HIV/AIDS, Homophobic Language, Hot Space Era, Hugs, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I feel like you probably know what's coming, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Interviews, LIVE AID 1985, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of multiple characters and relationships, Nicknames, POV First Person, Performance Art, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pet Names, Photography, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Politics, Recreational Drug Use, References to Illness, Slurs, Smoking, Stream of Consciousness, Swearing, Sweet, Terminal Illnesses, Written in an odd style, a bit at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: You wouldn't think to look too closely, would you? If you did, you wouldn't see my smile, because it's hidden behind my hand; wouldn't see the colour of my skin without a blush. And you definitely wouldn't see anything at all like the tracks of tears.Why not? Because I'm Freddie fucking Mercury, darling.(Or, Freddie's life as he sees it is one far separate from others. All he wants, he aches for somebody to love.)Posted as preparation for the Freddie Mercury first person POV challenge that I have learned will be happening in early June.
Relationships: Brian May & Freddie Mercury, Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Tim Staffell, Freddie Mercury/Bill Reid, Freddie Mercury/David Minns, Jim Beach & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Freddie Mercury, Mary Austin & Freddie Mercury, Mary Austin/Freddie Mercury, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 90
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

"Smile," they say. That's what we were, once. Well. Actually I was part of Ibex and then came on to join Smile after Tim left, pissed off, or flounced, more like, as we art students do. Dearest Roger and Brian needed me then; more than anyone else ever had.

I have a family, of course - my mum and dad and sister, Kash. We came from wealth in Zanzibar, or so my father enjoyed telling me before he sent me off to boarding school to make a good Farsi boy of me. That was what he said. After all the boxing lessons and sellout, off I went to India for years. I don't talk about those days, they're ghastly as to be boring; what really matters is when I came back to England and started a band, darling. 

I became Queen.

We all did, Brian and Roger and me, and Mike, who had such a big sound and a small personality, bless him - and then we had about five other bassists before auditioning the right one, and BAM! With John Richard Deacon, we have ourselves a band. 

And I have myself love, I think. Mary is wonderful. We tell each other everything, and I feel safe with her. Safe, until she starts asking for things I can't give. Why, well, it isn't such a simple answer. I need her in my life, still; I need people, to love them and bring them joy and happiness - even if it's for a bloody half an hour, I can be content knowing I've done something for them. With the boys onstage I can see the something that I've done; people tell me too.

Norman tells me, in his way, slippery, like I need to give him something for us to get what we all need. Another car for the band on tour? Done. New drumsticks for Roger? Done, with this. But all the money goes first to him and then on to Trident; and only with my body can I bring it back.

The boys don't know. Poor dears, Roger suspects, I think. He was the first to tell when something was off with Mary, even when I didn't say. I never say, she's still the love of my life, after all. Just not - I'm not, for her. I couldn't give her what she wanted from me.

I'm so cold.

I want to do right by Bill, and David - every time I've gone back to the flat, first - the green room, the studio, the line up of hotels I get checked over, and Roger is muttering "Bloody tossers, who's roughed you up this time, Fred? Why d'you let them?" 

I always laugh it off, because I can. "It's called rough sex, darling." Brian's face goes beet-red, dear man, and Deacy is grinning all over his face, the naughty boy. But Roger stares hard at me, and he is the one who says to me something I cannot shake away, something that cannot be forgotten.

"If they really loved you, they wouldn't fucking hurt you, Freddie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, 
> 
> I wanted to get this piece out to work on my portrayal of Freddie. As always, I mean no disrespect in any way, and am doing my absolute best to channel him.
> 
> So please do let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

I don't need this, I don't. Not photographers or interviews, the bloody fucking interviews. Brian is so poised, dear man always knows just what to say, genteel and polite and folding his hands with that beautiful lip-catching smile and pert little nods that Roger echoes. Rog joins right in with his bouncing exuberant excitement, that high husky timbre of a voice making everyone hang on his words, and of course he knows, but he's just artless enough to be charming, always saying thanks and cheers and ta, inviting the right people to come and hear us play.

And John. Dearest Deacy, ever-watchful and serene but just as witty and naughty as dear Rog. First time he tossed legumes at Brian and stuck them in his hair I couldn't breathe from laughing. Not to mention his first song with us was 'Misfire'-- and yet I'm supposedly the one with most experience. Well, he does have children, and if he and Ronnie get up to whatever they do for kids all the rest of the time... 

But they have each other, and I've got nothing but booze and blow and bars with so much leather within sweet Brian would have a sheer heart attack, take Roger's thought just at the sight of how awfully animals surely must have been treated... Yet they weren't, there is pleather all about, and it's pleather I'm wearing onstage, with my oversized hat and the jacket with studs, and Roger's warm hands are pulling it off me after the show as his cool scent, that aftershave mixes with nicotine smoke and honest-to-god actual leather surrounds me in a blanket of musk and I lean in; as Brian pulls the strap of his beloved guitar over his glorious high hair, hands going down and hauling up his overshirt to leave one thin and grey and open over the chest, lean body perfect as is John's beaming smile, the beautiful brightness of Roger's face as he stands next to me. I'd follow him anywhere. 

Follow them all anywhere, though they surely have no need of that. I understand John's place as the other half of the co-sonic volcano; I'm on with what was Brian's sure desire to have Roger in his band. I understand it. I have always known this, when I look in Rog's mischievous big blue eyes - squinting slightly because he's horribly nearsighted without glasses - I'm home. 

More than I have been anywhere, I am home with these three dear men. Brian, long hands magical upon that beautiful guitar, his mind sparkles like the stars, those nebulas he speaks of in which formations are born and die, the ideas he has rising through his brain's space like smoke -ideas from antiquity, it seems; magnificent arias in his head, poetry of science and art intermixed and intertwined. He is my soul brother, my soulmate in music.

Dear John, the stable one. Solid, reliable. Ever ready with a steady hand and just as steady backbeat. But an innocent still, somehow, in the world; powerful simplicity of want, of need. An engineer with a habit of bass playing. Sharp as a whip, he sees everything. He's the one who's gotten truly angry with me, furious when I'm not saying something true. Something he knows but can't put a finger on, because I haven't said for fear of worrying him needlessly. My darling little Deaks. We give each other care and attention with mere touches, or looks. Something I need, but I don't know what he needs. What any of them do, really. They all have wives, or girls innumerable, and children too.

Roger, who knows my secrets, any he can get out of me with a vodka tonic in hand. He has as voracious an appetite as I do for lights and for fun, and he's unflappable, game for anything. Hearing of his escapades over breakfast would make people drop their knives and forks, as I am certain mine would cause a few to fall from chairs. 

But I'm going, running, chasing. Leaving behind the dark places if I can, yet bringing them along with shouting and fuelled fights that go on enough to make even my dear Roger worry. He seems to worry so much, would punch out an undeserving prat for me. His words, I was taken aback by. But I wish he wouldn't; he shouldn't need. I should be able to do enough, to give enough, to love and find someone to love. Someone that will stay. 

Is any of my love enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even certain what is going on in this piece, there is a lot of information in one place I'm utilising via stream of consciousness. And poor Freddie, so much angst!
> 
> Comments are appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

"Ratty!" I say. "How are you, darling? You bringing those lovely enormous sausages to us?" With as much naughtiness as I can put through the phone, Miami looking on with his inexorable deadpan expression but that rock 'n roll twinkle in his eyes. Bless him. When we're on the road he's here, after Sheffield and Reid, the most rocking of all accountants, least boring of any such personality. He and Deacy, our dear John focuses quite closely on the business side of everything, has done since that concert at the Rainbow in '74 it seems.

I don't know why that sticks so surely in my head as the time our business-oriented bassist came into his own, but it was quite the dramatic evening; lights went out and sound cocked up, and even before that, there was something. 

I had come back to the flat in the afternoon, raring to go, my darlings, hair already fluffed and having found a glorious glittering dark tunic and silver necklaces. "You look like a fairy, Fred," Brian said as I passed him by, and Roger snorted so hard that tea spurted out his nostrils. I patted Bri on the bum as he sputtered and bumbled just after, his initial words had been those of apparent awe, sweet dear "--I, I meant in the sense of fey-like, the Fair Folk as Yeats put it. --Oh sod off, Roger!" 

I winked, murmured "You don't know how right you are, Brimi darling," and sashayed along, looking for Deacy. Roger waved vaguely as he and Bri got into a heated debate upon the etymology of words, and I shot on back to the little bedroom, finding John hanging over papers, bass half-shoved away, face in his hands, his body trembling.

"Deacy, my dearest, I'm right here," I jumped to go beside him, arm around his back, and sweet little John immediately buried his dear pale face into my shirt with a hiccough. "What is it, love? Are you alright?" I stroke his hair, that long chestnut mane, and will always remember its silky softness -without any fluff work needed. He got all the perks, nothing coarse.

"'M sorry Freddie," that sweet burr of an accent no one else has murmurs against the hair of my chest as John buries himself into it. "I'm fine, honestly. But I, I can't sing tonight. I don't think I can do it."

"Oh, love." I kiss the crown of his head with a little chuckle I cannot help. "Darling, you were acting so drastic, as though someone had died! Don't worry your sweet quiet heart, I can do it. Or, even better," chucking him under the chin and raising his face to look at him directly "Why don't I start in with 'Liar' and you join if the mood so strikes you, how about that?" I stroke his face then, able to smile without covering my teeth for this boy. He is one who truly sees me. "You sound so wonderful and raw, my dearest, it would be a pity not to hear your voice. But then," I continue as he shudders, closes his eyes "I'm selfish, really, because I'd love to have it just for me." 

John's eyes shoot open and he can't seem to stop a gasp, the gap in his teeth flashing as he utters "I - you - really, Freddie? You'd love to have - you love my voice?"

"I love your everything," I rub his back and gaze earnestly at him. My heart hitches as his face changes and I wonder if I've said too much, thrown something out he doesn't care to hear and won't pick up, but then my air is gone, knocked out as John flies at me, his wiry frame wrapping round mine as he buries his face once again into my chest. 

"That's - oh, Freddie, thank you," he afterwards murmurs something even lower, what it is I cannot tell, and I hold onto him tighter. 

We stay entwined together for ages, until at last with a little huff and nod he lifts his head and adds "... I'll do it, then. I'll - I can try to sing, for you."

In his eyes and face all determination and ability is thus expressed, and I know our brilliant bassist is destined for great things. He is never idle, and does what he can. 

I kiss his cheek then and whisper "How lovely of you, John, dear." My fingers tremble as I touch his cheek, and I close my eyes to fight threatening tears. He stays there stolid and silent and true, sweet boy, and then I hear Roger roar as he comes running through the flat.

"Holy fuck, Bri, John, Freddie-- it's half-past four, get your arses in gear!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to show some love from Freddie that, even if he doesn't realise how important it is, his bandmates do. I'm unclear when exactly John decided to help with the band's financial side, but Miami Beach is amazing, so I needed to make a mention of him :)
> 
> *The show I speak of is at the Rainbow Theatre in London, 1974. Crazy stuff went down that evening and in particular I thought about this version of 'Liar', which I adore. You can watch a video of it with this link: https://youtu.be/OT1bB6cKn4w
> 
> I may write about the actual performance, what do you think?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

First thing about the stage, it's bloody dark - Brian was the first to comment on this as we set up, and Roger cracked that since he couldn't see shite anyhow this would be an interesting night for drums.

"Maybe if you take off your sunglasses, Roger," Brian suggests.

"...But the object is for him to look incredibly cool, Brian," John deadpans, face a little peaked but at least he's settling a bit; the lack of light may be good for him, help to relax. I for one appreciate the mystery the darkness affords for all of my manifold movements. Besides, I possess enough glitter and flash for the crowd to see.

"Deaks gets it," Roger crows as I check the length of my microphone stand and Brian rolls his eyes and heads to stand just outside the pool of coloured light some crew is swinging over to my microphone. We get into position for sound and mic, and there are some crackling bits of feedback.

"Just ignore it, show must go on," but later that statement bites my behind because everything goes out but dear Deacy's homemade amp with his own extension cords, and Bri runs to plug in to that as the crew adjusts speakers and microphones, our roadies contending mightily with the Rainbow crew - hearing Crystal nearly come to blows and needing to be taken off lights a fire. In us, and in the crowd, who all shout and call out that we're playing 'Liar' as I try to introduce it. 

"Oh look at that they already know it," fling my hand in a piss-off gesture I cannot help but beam back at Roger, to John and Brian. If they've all come and memorised the setlist, for whatever reason they did, these beautiful people - we really must be something. Even Brian in his fidgeting over the power failure registers that significance, I surely hope; just to ensure I come right up his side during his solo. Roger gets right to drums and sprightly Deacy appears at my microphone to give us his sweet voice.

_"Mama I'm gonna be your slave!"_

__"All day long!"_ _

__"Mama I'm gonna try to behave,"_ _

__"All day long,"_ _

__"Gonna love you to my dying day, gonna kneel down by your side and pray...,"_ _

Glowing and so focused, brown hair bouncing as he bobs his head and plays right beside me as I wrap my arm around and lean into him, Roger rat a tatting with the drums, John croons "Ooh all day long, all day long!" And the energy is palpable. 

__

I adore it. All of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of the gig at the Rainbow Theatre, during which the lights went out. I imagine John's amp was still live because of his s skills in engineering...
> 
> This was a fun chapter, but next comes angst again, moving forward in time to _Hot Space_. We must brace ourselves
> 
> Hope you're enjoying, comments appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

How is it possible for one man to put so many songs together, music and lyrics and all? Perhaps doing so much else as well, as what voracious appetites men have; I know that all-too-well. I see it manifest variously with my three dear boys - are they mine anymore, or were they ever, really? I haven't any pull save for the power of my voice and some musical skill that I've fought hard to achieve. Yet someone such as Billy Joel, or our humble talented Brian, taught himself by ear to play with nary a lesson - as many tete-a-tetes with models as our Roger say the papers about American up and comers like Joel, like some new thing called punk music....

Yet we're still going. John, who has as many children as fingers on his hand, continues to work up his own glorious sound on our newest album - working so differently in style from all before, save some bits on _Jazz_ really - and I adore how excited he gets whilst doing it. Sly smiles as he works guitar bits and drum machines as well as bass. Up and about and working hard.

I am up and about too, nearly every night. Paul has ever so many favourite places to go, always the most exciting. Mustn't ever become boring, complacent with our antics or our sound.

I see Brian's face, long and pale and pinched in studio, seems unhappy yet distant. Roger is up close and fiery as ever, snapping fierce as the brightest flames. We still touch in that flame, and at least fire is warm, not frigid ice distant and shut down.

I can't shut down, I won't. I mustn't, for who on earth would love me then? How could anyone abide the press that would leak about Freddie Mercury being a sad old fag, or worse, the blatant and horrible 'Boring'?

Roger has his mansion and Party Barn; his natural exuberance and willingness to try something new, working alone on an album in which he played all of the instruments. Not even leaving piano for me. And Brian has his mind; beautiful, intelligent, multifaceted as he is...and Deacy, dearest John, he works to live. Lives for the simple life, and has the virtue of being inherently interesting by his occupation as a rockstar in a stable marriage with a caboodle of children and a wife who he calls his best friend. And when he hangs this up he'll return to her, for I will not be doing this forever, I know; I feel it sometimes. With this album in particular, we are all of us imploding.

The American press taunts us; all the Germans and Swiss want to know about Mack, the French do not care, there are no big operatic splurges or rocking anthems, ah, c'est la vie.

"It's not even rock at all, really," Brian utters softly.

Roger snorts in agreement. "Right. It's bloody disco. Can tell from the drum machines."

Both speak with such distaste, such vitriol. Songs on this album are not simply disco, but the sort played in various places that are not my bandmates' scene. "It's a dance craze, darling," I say to anyone and everyone who asks. Deacy smiles at that, our disco man, so proud. Otherwise he seems restless, though, unhappy. I ache over that. Tried to showcase love, find a love of my own in all of those places, the dark and the light - most far dimmer than they are bright, I do admit. Places Paul located.

"Fucking Paul," I hear often from Roger, a dark muttering, but Brian, ever polite, does naught but cut his eyes and his voice always gentle, goes hard and quiet. Deacy in his stolid way seems against the time we spend, Paul leading me out and showing me round. Is it so difficult to take the thought of people crawling, thronging, flocking to be around me? Am I not the lead singer of the greatest band in the world? I'm Freddie fucking Mercury!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here is Hot Space and all that entails...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to cheating and slurs below

With press response - bugger press response - we shouldn't be drawing out our time together, most bands break up, after all. No. No, this cannot be how we go. Drifting apart is one thing, but abysmal reviews and murderous press hounds, not to mention state censors that can fuck right off, as far as I am concerned. Wasn't even my idea, one of our more outlandish I suppose, yes, but truly tongue-in-cheek.

"What cheek was it in though, Fred?" Brian said as Roger roared with hysterical laughter, pulling up his nylons and fixing his hair. If I wasn't so miffed about the entire bloody situation, I might have laughed too. 

But why is it Freddie Mercury and Queen, always? Why must I stand out? The freak, the faggot, the arch pouf. Can I never be seen, love, and be loved for all that I am - not this flamboyant opportunistic coke-addled prima donna whoring around, just as Roger is not a playboy!

He does sleep around a bit, a good bit, but not like I, who'll do anything with anybody, darling - the only truly monogamous one amongst us four is Deacy. I am beginning to think that finding one somebody to love is a fluke, an anomaly. John is absurdly lucky, as deserving of said stroke of luck as anyone sweet and solid and dependable as he.

Perhaps we are not built for that sort of life, Roger and Brian and me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie is getting morose here, and I hope this is still respectful. Some of Freddie's descriptions of himself I've heard him say in interviews. It breaks my heart that he was so diminutive towards himself, oh Freddie, you deserve love!
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	7. Chapter 7

Well now we're out of America, I didn't think the SNL performance was utter trash but for the American press snobs, it obviously was. Didn't help getting into a shouting match the night before, and yet like Milton Keynes I think I worked my arse off, gave a performance of a lifetime, darling - I work hard every day of my bloody life, after all.

My boys rallied around me, one wonderful thing that came from that terrible night - Roger wouldn't even let Phoebe or Joe do anything, just told them to keep everyone else out of the hotel room; "if anyone needs us that fucking badly they can call or wait," he said. 

John postponed a call he had been planning with Veronica. "Ronnie understands," he says softly when I try to exhort him to go on, talk to his wife and give her my love. He only blinks and stays without saying a thing, and I look to Brian, begging him, at least, to go on; to work things out with Chrissie, whatever they are - he doesn't want to be like I am, surely.

Yet with eyes soft and lips trembling as he wraps long hands around mine and holds tight, Brian's voice softly squeaks just a bit. "...I can think of far worse ways to live than to love as you do, Fred," he tells me. "I'm so..." He shakes his head, shoulders coming up, stiffening, scared. 

Or it's me, scared. No, I'm terrified. I gather myself as best I can and bury my body against him, feeling his thin torso lurch and fingers thread through my hair as he drops a kiss to the crown of my head. Oh, Brian... I don't know that I've spoken aloud, but his arms tighten and he rubs my back. 

"I'm here, Fred. It's alright, okay, I won't say such things if they upset you," something in him gives off the worry that his words could go wrong, like so many of ours did during _Hot Space_. Then he seemed to be growing up, going away, he and Roger, my dearest Blondie. 

But now, right at this moment Brian needs me, I think; as John still does, did in that last album. I clutch at Brian, wanting only to help him. Not quite registering the depth of meaning behind "We're here, just hang on, Fred. Let us help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie dealt with some awfully abusive relationships in the early eighties. One such fight preceded a concert at Milton Keynes, and another the Saturday Night Live performance that ended up being one of Queen's last in America.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie is furious after an unfortunate situation
> 
> Slurs, colonisation, and political issues discussed below

Miami advises against it. Sensible man, we ought to have listened, but things were slowing for us, going to shite as Roger snorted, and any gig we got we wanted to do it. Never were politically bent, really, the four of us; I for one can't be bothered. Deacy did the most, probably, with his bit about the women's movement, but I don't think anyone even bloody caught that, cleverclogs John Deacon is too much for the public at large. Never mind MTV.... 

I still want things to be large for us, the best is the biggest, in everything. So we broke the ban - it mostly came from ruddy colonisation anyhow, and now brave Britain and the rest of the colonisers cannot bear to be reminded of their evils. The ban is to soothe the European conscience. THAT'S what the real problem is, I think, but can't tell that to the press or the people, they just keep going on about Queen being "insensitive" and "politically deaf".

"I'm just bloody fucking deaf from drumming, how do they know?" Cracks Roger. Brian is the most worried over it, he talks extensively with Miami after our concert. He's the one who apologises to our long-suffering manager, says we should have listened.

I'm not at that, but Brian has always been bigger than I that way. Admits his failings ...in fact sees far more of them in himself than the rest of the world does, which I can relate to, dear sensitive insecure darling, but there's this dark cloud, this worry that we'll never be asked to play again because of one mistake. One glaring misstep, but still, everyone fucking stumbles! Some of us more than most. I look at Rog and Bri and Deacy, and worry for them. I still haven't any ties that bind me, not like they do. They're all fundamentally English, I'm just the immigrant son of people fleeing persecution, the little paki boy with the buck teeth who wanted to give a concert in an off-limits place. Bollocks. I wanted to spread my love with music, the way I always have.

But because of that, what can we do? I don't know what Queen stands for, if not for love of music, spread everywhere. If we are to be shunned, my boys by their own people - what, then, do we stand for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Queen got on the wrong side of the European ban of playing concerts in African countries affected by apartheid by doing a concert in South Africa, I think it was. A delicate subject, and I hope Freddie's fury makes sense, as I thought of his own life as an immigrant, taunted from a young age. 
> 
> I do not intend to disrespect or simplify the political issues of England in the 80s by writing this, I just think to Freddie the issue might have been more simple: he meant only to spread joy through music, as he always did. And on this particular occasion it went sideways.
> 
> *Freddie reportedly said he didn't know what Queen stood for in an interview from 1984
> 
> Do let me know what you think, comments appreciated <3


	9. Chapter 9

We've been taking time off, out of the studio and not doing consistent tours for a couple years. Brian and Roger both came out with solo albums (I tried but right next to mine 'Queen's Greatest Hits' sold out first, there's a message) - John went off to Bali, dunno what for, must have needed a vacation. I could use one too, I'm sure, but what would be left if I stopped singing, even for a moment? What would be left of me?

I've grown thin, it seems. Feel stretched, not fragile, never that, but even as I go out I don't WANT the high of the drug variety. I go to the Heaven, a haven as Sharon tells me, he's gotten so close to all sorts there; in a different way than Paul. I've seen how he's stretching assets, taking and taking and taking so I give to everyone else.

It was John who said something, not directly about that, but we were writing together, starting on a little sweet song he's come up with most of the lyrics for, about friends. I said I was going to work my arse off on this for him, and those steady sweet eyes stared at me. That gentle dry matter-of-fact tone said "...You don't owe me or anybody anything, Freddie. You're brilliant." So serious, no cheek or any self-doubt. He was certain of those words.

And around then, last minute so I heard, Bob Geldorf shouted down the horn to Miami that there was something Queen could do, a charity gig he was organising.

Something called Live Aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The song I have Freddie and John writing came out on their '86 album, but I figured they might have started working it together earlier, after John had his time off. 
> 
> *Apparently the hits of Queen did sell out before copies of Freddie's solo album, aw :'( but that just proves he's meant to be in Queen
> 
> *The Heaven was a gay/leather bar that Freddie and Elton John both frequented. Sharon is Elton, he and Freddie both came up with 'drag names' for themselves. Freddie met someone who would later become important to him at this bar :)
> 
> *Bob Geldorf told Miami to get in touch with Queen twice, first time Freddie wasn't interested, but he came back and voila, we have the famous performance for Live Aid!
> 
> I may try my hand at describing that performance, what do you think?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	10. Chapter 10

"Why should we do it?" Roger snaps, his teeth bared soon as he hears about the gig.

"Well, it is for charity...," Brian offers softly, but trepidation lurks in his tired hazel eyes.

"And, erm, yes but why do they want us now? Didn't care t' give us a gig for Band Aid last year."

"Band Aid," Roger scoffs. "Fucking right, let's have every British act in the fucking studio for that, oh, except for Queen, THEY can sod off!"

"... Because of the African gig, Rog," John said. Roger whipped round in high dudgeon, but I'm first.

"Oh fuck that gig, darling, they simply wanted an excuse to exclude us. Queen isn't big anymore, so the press will pull us through the mud for pure spite, you know what they'll say--"

"We're a bunch of dinosaurs. Sid Vicious they want, or Madonna," Brian speaks as if a weight is crushing him. I flick my wrist and mock up a punch.

"Oh, Mister Ferocious is nothing, Bri my darling," I say to him. "We didn't need Band Aid and we don't need this to know who we are...." I try so hard to sound sure even as I feel my heartbeat stutter, my lips tremble underneath the mustache that blessedly hides this moment of weakness. I look around at all of them. "...Do we, loves?"

Brian and Roger glance at each other. Roger puts an arm on John's shoulder, nudging him. John sniffs and Brian smiles as our dry-witted bassist chimes in "Maybe, but it wouldn't hurt to do something likeable again."

"Right, well, as long as we're sure the money is going to the right people," Brian puts in, logical as ever, bless him. "We don't want to be part of an event where everybody and his brother who's set it up is taking a cut of the profits so the actual people who are starving receive maybe five pounds."

"A ray of sunshine, you are," Roger cracks.

"Rogie, I'm serious."

"I am too," I draw myself up with all the poise I can muster. We are together in this or out of it. "I shall tell Miami that we're not onboard." I look round again, and see a pitiful look on Brian, those big eyes flashing with what seems like pain.

"...I just, I had hoped we could one day be on the country's good side again," he sighs, feverishly pushing fingers through his hair. Roger starts nodding with a grunt of agreement. "I mean, the press is always tough, exhausting, but positive press... It's, it's a little less so. I'm probably being selfish, but I would like us to receive a bit more positive press," he ducks his face a trifle, as though ashamed for such a wish. Dear Brian.

But it is John who adds "That way there's proof we can climb out of the hole. I get it, Brian. 'M with you." The expression Brian gives him, disbelieving yet utterly thankful, brings tears rushing to my eyes. I didn't rightly realise how much our Bri has been walking on eggshells especially around John since the ordeal that was _Hot Space_. But now he reaches out and squeezes John's wrist in thanks at his agreement, as John's face crinkles and he gives Brian a nod.

Roger asks what I'm still just standing here for, so I call Miami, and he in turn tells me that Geldorf said, on no uncertain terms, that Live Aid is going to be "one hell of a show" and apparently we would curse ourselves for the rest of our lives if we missed performing in it. "It's a twenty-minute set," Miami says. "Bare bones. Can't bring our own set, so no pyrotechnics. But it's a worthy cause, to which all the money's going. No one's getting paid for this," our accountant manager says, and I relay the information to the boys. It's all of us, after all. Or none.

There is silence for a while. Then heavy sighing, and "Twenty minutes, so. Greatest hits, yes?"

"Get the crowd on their feet. 'We Are The Champions'."

"See how many people will be clapping during 'GaGa'."

"My guess is five, Roger," Brian puts in.

"Well we have GOT to do 'Crazy Little Thing', which you both are," I toss off as our drummer and guitarist put their heads up as if ready to begin one of their infamous exchanges of verbal blows.

There is a slight cough and satirical glance, and Roger, roughing up his feathery light hair as he goes to pick up and flip his drumsticks, "So. I suppose we're going right into rehearsal then?"

I clap my hands, full-on now that we've decided. "You bet your pretty arse, my darling!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bob Geldorf was no-nonsense about his (practically a demand) way to get Queen into Live Aid. Freddie, according to what I've read, was impressed by his directness.
> 
> *No one was paid for this gig, and it was indeed bare-bones, no lights, no zany costumes, not even their own sound system. Twenty-minute sets for everyone, and Queen was the only band that took rehearsal time. Three days of it, to be exact, beforehand.
> 
> May yet write about the performance, so let me know if you'd like to see it. Comments appreciated <3


	11. Chapter 11

It's our last day of rehearsal before this gig, and I'm catching my breath. Voice feels a little rough, and I'm cold, a bit tired. But I'm going to get these tetchy vocal cords in order before the show tomorrow if it's the last thing I do. Talked to a doctor, who said I've got a bronchial problem and I shouldn't sing. Well bollocks to him, singing is my living! And I absolutely adore it.

Did notice how concerned he was with other aspects of my check up. Wanted to do a lab test of my blood and suchlike things. Bollocks. Asked if I've been feeling tired, or getting ill more than usual. "Oh I'm here and there, running around to play our music in all sorts of places, I'm sure I could have caught something, it's called fun!"

He's just a physician I stopped in to see; I don't go to a doctor regularly, and so brushed off the concern. His worries stay with me, though, and I now screech a bit on the tail-end of 'GaGa'. Roger cuts off the drums and Brian actually begins to swear, only taking a look at my face as John mimes us cutting off and brings me a glass of water. "Thank you, darling," I say, and as Brian pins those concerned eyes on me, "Dearest Brimi, don't worry, I've just got a tickle in my throat. Doctor said I shouldn't sing, but bollocks to him, I'm going to get these bitches in order." Swallowing, whirling a finger round and downing the drink. "Could use some fucking vodka, but let's go!"

Brian sighs, but it's Roger who decries my choice the loudest

"Fuck, Fred, if he said you shouldn't sing--"

"I don't give a fig for what he said, we've rehearsed three days for this last-minute gig, and I won't let Bob down. I won't let you boys down," I feel a prickling in my eyes, feel them fill. Tamp down the shivers that threaten to go up and down my spine, and let my breath hiss out for a moment. Blinking hard, I look round at them. "I just-- I won't." _I can't bear it. Not again._

"Oh, Fred."

There's movement, I don't know who starts it first, but Brian is blinking and Deacy's lips are trembling as Roger lunges, launches himself across his kit at me, at all of us. Draws us into a tight warm embrace as the others come and nestle close.

"Oh come off it, nobody's letting anyone down," that high sweet voice is fierce as ever as I automatically bury my face in Roger's neck and hair. I feel Brian's arm around my shoulders, his hand holding my head as John rubs soothing circles on my lower back. "We're in this, yeah? And we'll help each other. If you can't, Freddie, I'll sing. So will Brian, won't you, Bri?"

I feel Brian's nod. "Of course, and we can take things down a bit. I know you can do that Fred. You have before." 

"--Lower the octave of your singing, to do the harmony, like," John speaks up, and as I can tell the others stare, he very obviously rolls his eyes. "Come off it, I can tell what he does even though I don't sing!" Swallowing, "But, erm. Give me a microphone, I'll help too."

Another murmur, "We're here. We'll do whatever you need, Freddie."

I let out a gasp, buried in Roger's hair, in Brian's arms, in John's warmth. I feel this clenching in my chest, a shock that could cause a fall, perhaps, if no one was here. And yet they are. 

The feeling loosens and makes me... light as I hold onto all three of these lovely wonderful boys even tighter, knowing this performance is necessary for us if for no other cause than this. 

Because these boys love me, as much as I love them. And we are bound together, for this family binds us.

Together we are Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Freddie had a throat infection and was told singing could damage his vocal cords. He sang at Live Aid anyway.
> 
> *John does have a microphone at the performance, and he sings backup. I was also very aware that Freddie did, in fact, harmonise and lower notes in some of the verses during Live Aid. He was protecting his voice and it still sounded absolutely fantastic!
> 
> I think a physician would/could have noticed Freddie's health deteriorating before he was officially diagnosed with AIDS in 1987, so that is what the appointment alludes to. And I imagine Freddie might know something was off. You can tell when there are changes in your body.
> 
> These notes are a bit sobering, but I'd like to end this story here, unless readers would like more. Please let me know.
> 
> Comments are appreciated always <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Here We Stand, or Here We Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272971) by [1f_this_be_madness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness)




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